The Great American Fanfiction
by Kalvin Edward Rumwyn
Summary: Nick stays with Gatsby that fateful day. How much can one man change another's life?


I thought that, with the loss of Daisy to her brutish husband, Gatsby would get into some mischief. I stayed in the mansion, close enough to keep an eye on him, but not close enough to smother. Gatsby gave his butler clear instruction to tend to my every whim, but the only whim I had was to tear Gatsby from his trance.

A short while after noon, Jordan forced herself upon me for tea. The tea, contrary to Jordan's surmise, did not help my mood.

"You're sulking," she pointed out.

"I am not, "I replied. "I'm worried about Gatsby."

"He's tough," Jordan replied with a sigh.

"He's vulnerable."

Jordan set her teacup aside and held my face in her soft little hands. For a long while, she stared into my face and said nothing. Then she leaned forward and kissed my lips.

This was not the magical, intoxicating kiss she had given before. I did not kiss her back and pulled away. When she leaned forward again, I pushed her away and went to the open window, staring at the clouds as I fought to control my anger.

Jordan began, "Nick—"

A gunshot rang through the house, effectively ending her sentence. I took this opportunity ti hurry off, hoping Gatsby hadn't found some trouble.

Rushing outside, I found Gatsby in the pool, floating there like some dead fish. George Wilson stood with a shaking arm extended and ending in a shaking hand holding a gun. Once he understood the severity of his crime, Mister Wilson let out a short cry and turned nearly transluscent. Jordan, who had followed me out, shrieked and hurried back into the house.

With no hesitation, I dove into the pool. Ignoring the blood, I brought Gatsby's body to the edge and dragged him out of the pool. Gatsby coughed weakly, dotting his pale lips with blood.

The butler entered at this point and I helped him get Gatsby dressed properly in bedclothes and laid on one of the couches. Gatsby only paled and groaned as we did, constantly reaching for me.

His butler let him rest and I knew a doctor had been sent for. I stayed by his side, which Gatsby seemed to appreciate.

"You should go change," he told me.

I shook my head, "I will wait with you until a doctor arrives."

"Nick, don't let them save me," Gatsby begged.

"And why not?" I asked. "You are an important man. You can still be more important."

"No, Nick. I killed her, Tom's woman," Gatsby whispered.

"Nonsense," I told him. "Daisy was driving."

"I gave her the keys, I told her to avoid the other car," Gatsy told me, wincing at the pain in his side.

Before I could give a counterargument, the butler returned with a doctor, the latter took one look at Gatsby and started examining the patient right away. The butler led me to a small bedroom and helped me change out of my wet clothes, wadding the latter up and taking them off "to be dried."

I returned and found the doctor had wrapped Gatsby from the end of his ribcage to where his hips began. I sat on the divan across from the patient, watching at the doctor gave Gatsby a sleeping pill. Once he was sleeping soundly, the doctor left.

There was a calm stillness in the room and, when I looked outside, the sky had become a shade darker. A storm was coming.

I looked over at Gatsby and watched him rest, thinking he looked like a man of good morals. I crept closer and pressed a hand to his cheek, finding it cool. I moved my hand to the inside of his wrist and found a pulse. Then I pulled my hand away and Gatsby shifted, face scrunching up efore he fell back into a peaceful slumber.

I did the only thing I could do and laid on the divan and, after another glimpse of the sleeping angel in the room, went to sleep myself.

When I awoke, I turned over and found the couch void of last night's patient. Worriedly, I jumped off the divan and found him standing by the window, clutching his bandaged side and wheezing ever so slightly.

"Come look, old sport," he told me as though the events of yesterday were a scrape. "Come look at the sky."

I joined him slowly at the window and watched the sun rise over light clouds. The entire garden beneath us sparkled from the thousands of liquid diamonds that caught and reflected the rising sun. In spite of myself, I smiled a bit.

"I want to go to California," Gatsby told me. "I hear Hollywood is nice this time of year."

I smiled and asked him, "You're through with Daisy?"

"Of course," he told me as he focused on me. "I would rather bring you along."

I turned to him and found a curious expression upon his pale face. I asked him, "Why is that, Gatsby?"

He didn't say anything for the longest time. Slowly, I began to place the expression on his face and my face heated up. Gatsby smiled, knowing I had caught on.

As he took my hand, he told me, "You saved me."

I gave his cold hand a gentle squeeze, nodding and agreeing, "I did."

"We should invite Jordan to tea to tell her we're going away," Gatsby told me.

I simply nodded even though I was not looking forward to seeing her again.

Gatsby, with a healthy tint, sat next to me, holding my hand under the table. I hated to look at Jordan, so I looked down, stirring my tea.

"So that's it then?" she asked. "You two are going out West to Hollywood?"

Gatsby nodded, I could see it out of the corner of my eye, and told her, "I'm bringing Nick with me."

"Well, I was engaged anyway," she replied coolly.

I looked up and asked, "You were?"

Jordan nodded, "This was just a long vacation from him and golf."

I stared for a moment, unable to think of anything to say.

"You two look great together," she told us, smiling in her cynical little way. "Really, like the bee's knees." With that she stood and hurried off.

"I think, Nick, that she approves of us," Gatsby told me, obviously amused at Jordan's reaction.

Hollywood was different and so was Gatsby. Before, he tried to impress people with his learnt charms and wealth. Now, we resided in a three-bedroom flat in the very heart of the city with only my Finn and each other.

I sat, looking over the morning's paper and sipping coffee at a lavish but functional table Gatsby insisted on. Gatsby himself was getting ready in our bedroom to go see the newest film.

"Nick, can you come in here?" he called.

I stood and hurried into the room. Ever since the attack on Gatsby's life, I hurried when I heard the faintest hint of worry or panic in his voice.

"I'm right here," I told him, stepping into the room.

"Come read this," Gatsby begged me, handing me an opened envelope.

I scowled at the unfamiliar name on the envelope and pulled out the article and letter. I read the article for a while before nodding. I carefully put the letter and article back in the envelope.

Gatsby took the envelope and tossed it into the fire, much to my surprise, and told me, "I'm through with her, old sport. Done and finished."

I smiled and told him, "I'm proud. You're far better than her, Jay."

"I'm glad you think so, old sport," Gatsby replied, smiling in return.

I had been drunk just twice in my life, but the kisses of Jay Gatsby were just as intoxicating as whiskey.

We had been at dinner with some of Hollywood's own variety of East Eggers. Gatsby sat next to me, but hunched over, a shadow covering his features. With every course, he chased it with whiskey. He needed me to help him home and in the car.

I didn't want to bother our housekeeper, so I was undressing Gatsby and helping him dress for bed. As I removed his tie, Gatsby leaned forward and kissed me. It was sudden and sloppy, but I didn't really care at that moment. I kissed him back in place of words, hands running over his clothes and removing them.

Slowly, Gatsby fumbled with my tie, my belt, my pants, and, a little more forcefully than he meant, shoved me back on the bed. He joined me and finished stripping me as if I were some grand present.

"Jay—"

"Don't talk, Nick," Gatsby growled.

I lay back, watching Gatsby stare at me, not making eye contact. I shuddered to think he was comparing me to my second cousin now deceased. Then he nodded and kissed and nipped at my neck and I knew I would have to cover those up somehow.

"You're so amazing," Gatsby murmured, kissing the crook of my neck. His hands were on my thighs and I shivered. "Absolutely amazing." One of his hands fumbled for something in a drawer and I turned a bit red. We had invested in it as a joke when we moved out here. Now Gatsby was nudging my legs further apart and using out little joke.

Cold. A cold finger slipped into me, making my breath hitch. Gatsby only chuckled.

Maybe it was because he was drunk or maybe because he was impatient, but we were soon, for lack of a better word, fucking. Gatsby was rougher than he probably would have been sober. I simply took it, gasping and groaning when he made sure to pleasure me as well.

I knew I would not want to leave out bed the next morning.

After the deed was done, I lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. I wondered if Gatsby was comparing me to Daisy and I felt completely inadequate. Daisy was fragile and perfect and I was . . .

What exactly was I?

The question kept me up until dawn, as did the roar of the Hollywood traffic.

At some point in the course of the early morning, I fell asleep. I groaned at the crass arrival of late morning, turning over and laying against Gatsby. I sat up, staring at his still sleeping form. The pain in my back was all the evidence I needed that we did exactly what I thought.

I rolled out of bed in the most graceless way and hurried to get dressed and to my bedroom when I heard the sheets shift.

"Come back to bed, Nick," Gatsby ordered gently.

"Gatsby, I—"

"Bed. Now, old sport," Gatsby grumbled. "I want to sleep in. My head is killing me.

"What do you think of me?" I asked him, coming back to bed.

"You're amazing, perfect, actually intelligent, and honest," Gatsby told me without hesitation. "Honesty is your best trait."

I sighed and had to agree with him. Gatsby pulled me close and kissed my forehead. He shifted to get comfortable, them went back to sleep.

I smiled and thought Gatsby looked rather handsome when he slept. Peaceful, even.


End file.
